


Consequences of Fate

by CariadWinter



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Angst and Feels, First Kiss, Fix-It of Sorts, Healing, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Post-Battle of Five Armies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-16
Updated: 2018-01-16
Packaged: 2019-03-05 11:38:17
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,440
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13387020
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CariadWinter/pseuds/CariadWinter
Summary: The Battle of the Five Armies is over, Thorin is wounded but alive, and his nephews have been laid to rest. Life goes on. Except that Bilbo is leaving and Thorin is fairly certain that might kill him anyway.





	Consequences of Fate

**Author's Note:**

  * For [bagel_fish](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bagel_fish/gifts).



Somewhere, in the depths of the Erebor, there is music playing. The dwarves are celebrating their victory. The fires have all been re-lit, the destruction is being cleared away. It will take time; weeks, months probably, but soon Erebor will be returned to its former glory.

Thorin is glad for it. He’s filled with a pride that he has not felt in an age. And yet, something restless still stirs beneath his skin. For more than a fortnight, he’s clung to the vestiges of life. Gandalf had done what he’d been able to do in the beginning, but Azog’s blade had done more damage than even the wizard could manage. Thorin was alive though, thanks to the healing magic of the elves. It is not something Thorin is happy about, accepting any kind of their aid, but he is grateful nonetheless.

The restlessness running through his veins is more than healing energy and the need to be anywhere but bed. Yes, he’s been confined and he wants to get out of bed and move about, but it’s more than that. Something calls to him, tugs at the corners of his mind, whispers along his skin like a lover. He shudders against it, shifts against the sheets with the need to move, dominate, possess, protect.

Squeezing his eyes shut, Thorin does his best to push it all away. He reminds himself what it had taken to overcome the dragon sickness before; reminds himself of what it has cost him, cost them all. Eyes opening again, he thinks about the price he has paid to reclaim their home. He thinks about the price they have all paid. Dwarves, elves, men… his nephews. Fili and Kili were gone now, promise broken. They would never return home. They would never kiss their mother’s cheek again or laugh or cry or love. The damage is done. It is forever. It is a high price. One he is not certain was worth it in the end, for he would trade all the gold in all the mountains in all the world to have them back again.

Tears pool at the corners of Thorin’s eyes and flow down across his temples into his hair. He doubts very much that the blood on his hands will ever be worth the return.

Shifting, heartsick and weary of the four walls that surround him, Thorin pushes himself out of bed. The pain of moving is immense. His body isn’t ready for much, but he knows if he doesn’t move now, the weight of his own thoughts and the guilt they bear down on him will suffocate him.

Carefully, he pulls a thick cloak around himself and reaches for the cane propped at his bedside. The second he allows it to take some of his weight, the pain eases into an almost tolerable ache. It’s enough and Thorin heads for the door. 

The music and sounds of merriment grow louder in the corridor, but he doesn’t head towards it. Instead, Thorin makes the slow journey up to the battlements and peers out over the valley. The strong, bitter winter wind helps to clear his mind. 

The bodies have all been cleared from the battlefield. The fallen dwarves have been laid to rest in the catacombs with their forebears. Elves and men have claimed their kin. Pyres had been built for the rest of the fallen. The world, for the moment, has been burned clean and is at peace. And Thorin, for his part, had slept through it all.

“You should be in bed,” comes a soft voice from behind.

Thorin’s eyes close, his heart thumps hard in his chest. The flood of guilt and shame return like a rekindled fire and he swears it will burn right through him.

“How… are you well enough?” Bilbo inquires and Thorin can almost feel the heat of the hobbit at his back.

Thorin nods, opens his eyes. “Well enough,” he lies, because he needs this like he needs air.

“Good,” Bilbo replies and moves to stand at the king’s side. “Good.”

The nervous tension between them is palpable and Thorin hates it. It shouldn’t be this way between them. Bilbo should never feel uncertain in his presence. He deserves any distrust that the hobbit has for him though. In his madness, Thorin had betrayed their friendship, had betrayed the unspoken truth of what Bilbo really was to him.

Silence falls between them, creeps in to steal the words Thorin knows he should be speaking. Somewhere inside of him is an apology, though he owes Bilbo so much more. He owes him everything really and part of Thorin, the part that is lost in feelings he knows he shouldn’t feel, wants to confess it all. Give it life.

What would the hobbit think of him then? If Thorin spoke of the love he possesses for Bilbo, if he confesses how much he wants, needs, craves him? If he told Bilbo how he never meant to cause him harm… would the hobbit believe him? Would he care? Would he love him return?

“Gandalf wants to set out in the morning,” Bilbo announces, cutting across Thorin’s tumultuous thoughts. It feels as though another blade has speared through him, rending him in two.

Unable to stop himself, Thorin finally looks at Bilbo. He gazes upon the young hobbit’s profile and it shatters something inside of him. Once Bilbo is gone, there truly will be nothing left.

Bilbo turns as well and meets Thorin’s gaze. The connection is there, ignites like the spark of a match and it nearly buckles Thorin’s legs. He knows it’s an impossibility. A hobbit and a dwarf could never build a life together. They both have their own separate lives in separate parts of the world. Any future they might have would be… but how could there ever be a future? Neither could ever leave their life behind. Could they?

No. Bilbo belongs in the Shire and Thorin’s place is here. Bilbo will be safe in the Shire, away from all the things that can hurt him… away from him.

“It’s a long journey,” Thorin finally offers lamely and the words cause him physical pain to speak. 

He’s certain that pain shows in his eyes because Bilbo shifts closer, worry lining his face. The closeness of him makes Thorin want to turn and run.

“Thorin,” Bilbo begins softly and reaches a hand out, maybe to steady him because Thorin certainly feels unsteady or maybe simply to touch. Either way, Thorin backs away. 

“I should return to my chambers,” he offers by way of excuse. It’s a pathetic excuse, a clear attempt to avoid physical contact, but it’s all he has.

He’s barely made it inside when Bilbo speaks. 

“I won’t apologize.”

It’s a firm, almost angry statement and it stalls Thorin’s stride.

“Not for doing what I believed to be right.”

The last is spoken with a hint of sadness and it keeps Thorin from walking away, but he doesn’t turn.

“I would never ask you to,” Thorin assures him.

“No,” Bilbo responds, sounding half-choked. “Then why does it still feel like I’m being punished?”

Footsteps bring the hobbit close again and Thorin tenses. Gods help him, he needs this to be done now. Thorin needs for Bilbo to not be suddenly standing before him because that makes him far too tempting. If Bilbo will just leave him alone then maybe, just maybe, he can get through the hobbit’s leaving without losing any more of himself.

Of course, that is not what happens.

“Why does it still feel as though you can’t even bear to look at me?” Bilbo questions and well, he’s not wrong. Thorin doesn't want to look at him. Looking leads to wanting and wanting isn’t good for either of them.

Thorin still doesn’t respond and Bilbo doesn’t let it go.

“Why does it feel like you haven’t forgiven me?” the hobbit presses. “No matter what you said at the end of the battle.”

Thorin sighs. His heart is beating irregularly now, fluttering wildly because damn it, he should have never left his chambers.

“There is nothing to forgive, Master Baggins,” is what Thorin manages to get out. “There never has been.”

Bilbo doesn’t look convinced. Of course he doesn’t. None of what Thorin says is enough and they both know it. Thorin owes him more than a few rushed assurances and a quick dismissal. 

He leans heavier on his cane and sighs again. “You owe nothing, Bilbo. To anyone. You risked your life for all of us and had no reason to do so. We are the ones who owe you. I owe you. I…” Thorin falters for a moment, feeling as though he is in serious danger of suffocating under the weight of his own feelings.

“I meant what I said at the top of the falls. I regret, more than anything, ever putting you in danger.”

Bilbo shuffles in front of him, looks as though he doesn’t quite know what to do with himself. All Thorin can do is keep going. The floodgates are open and as much as he wants to, there is no point in stopping now.

“You offered me your loyalty, your friendship, and your trust. I repaid you by trying to kill you. For that, I don’t deserve your forgiveness. Nor do I deserve the friendship that you so willingly keep offering me.”

The hobbit's eyes are wide, his expression caught somewhere between shock and looking as though he’s going to argue.

“Go home, Bilbo,” Thorin insists before Bilbo can muster up the words to disagree. “I meant that as well.”

Bilbo, ever the stubborn hobbit that he is, shifts closer. He inserts himself into Thorin’s personal space and presses a hand to Thorin’s chest, fingers curling in the king’s tunic. Another piece of Thorin’s heart crumbles.

“I never stopped being your friend, Thorin,” Bilbo says softly and just like that, any defenses Thorin might have crumble. “Whatever you think you have done, whatever you think you have broken between us, I know it wasn’t you. None of what happened once we reached Erebor was you. Not really.”

He shifts closer, sends the flutter in Thorin’s chest up to his throat. 

“The gold, the Arkenstone, it twisted your heart. Your mind wasn’t your own. I know that…” Bilbo’s voice cracks and this time it is Thorin who reaches out.

“I would like to think that I would not have hurt you.” And it’s true. Thorin wants more than anything to believe he wouldn’t have hurt Bilbo. They both know he would have though. He’d been crazed enough that, had no one else been there, he probably would have killed him.

“I still would have forgiven you,” Bilbo whispers.

The corner of Thorin’s mouth curls up into a barely-there smile despite the seriousness of the situation. “Then perhaps you are the one that is mad.”

Bilbo chuckles and just like that, any resistance between the two of them is gone. The hobbit steps into him and Thorin lets him. They press against each other, their heights all wrong, but no one could ever tell Thorin that this isn’t exactly where Bilbo belongs.

“You nearly died.” 

It’s a sobering statement, Bilbo’s voice breaking on a half-choked sob. Thorin can’t help but wrap his arms around the smaller man and press his face into the top of Bilbo’s head. Nothing Thorin could say would feel adequate enough. This moment was more than words. It was a dizzying combination of love and comfort, guilt and remorse, longing and grief. Bilbo clings tighter and though it makes Thorin wince, he allows it.

The music fades to a dull hum and the wind outside blows harder, whistles around the pillars of the battlement. Everything feels right and wrong all at once. Holding Bilbo feels right. Letting him leave feels wrong. Erebor feels like a little bit of both. The mountain is home, the dwarves belong here, but Thorin feels like a ghost in her chambers and halls.

“Would you stay?” Thorin asks. His voice carries on the wind, nearly getting lost. He already knows the answer. 

Bilbo sniffles and tilts his head up. There is pain and longing in his eyes, but also the unspoken ‘No’. “I would never belong here, Thorin. We both know that.”

Thorin nods and tries to pretend the words don’t hurt like a physical blow.

“I would, however,” Bilbo begins and smoothes his hands across Thorin’s chest, “tell you that my home is your home. And… if you ever find yourself in the Shire again…”

Thorin smiles, the ache in his chest easing somewhat. “Then I will know where home is,” he finishes.

Bilbo smiles up at him and it takes Thorin’s breath away.

“And what if I asked you to stay the night with me?”

Bilbo’s eyes go wide again and he sucks in a sharp breath. “Please,” he replies with a nod.

Thorin’s smile grows wider and he guides the hobbit around until he’s tucked under Thorin’s arm. He won’t be up for much, but holding Bilbo in his arms is all he needs.

 

* * *

 

Dawn comes too soon and Thorin wishes it away one last time before Bilbo stirs next to him. The hobbit had fallen asleep halfway into the night. They hadn’t talked, hadn’t planned. Thorin had simply settled back into bed and Bilbo had curled up next to him. Now, all he wishes for is more time.

Bilbo groans softly next to him, face buried in one of the pillows. “What time is it?” he mumbles.

Thorin shifts against the headboard. “Early.” 

He sounds bone tired even to his own ears and it causes Bilbo to lift his head and look at him. Thorin hadn’t slept at all. He’d held the hobbit until he’d fallen asleep and then shifted up, sat watch throughout the night. These were their last hours together and Thorin hadn’t been able to bear the thought of sleeping them away.

“Did you sleep at all?” Bilbo asks, sliding around beneath the covers until he’s sitting at Thorin’s hip.

Thorin shakes his head. “I think I was afraid you wouldn’t be here if I did.”

Bilbo reaches up, brushes his fingertips along the line of Thorin’s jaw. The touch is feather light and leaves a whisper of heat in its wake. Thorin shudders.

“Silly dwarf.”

Thorin huffs out a soft laugh. Every moment between them should be so easy and effortless.

“You should rest some,” Bilbo tells him. “There’s still time.”

Thorin shakes his head again. “I don’t know if… when… I don’t know when I’ll see you again.”

Bilbon stiffens and pulls away a little. “Do you not think that we will?”

It’s a question Thorin doesn’t want to answer because there is always the possibility. He drops his gaze to his lap. 

“We both know I won’t be able to leave Erebor for some time. My body still needs to heal and there is much to be done here. I cannot just leave them.”

Bilbo is silent for too long and when Thorin looks up at him, there is fear in the hobbit’s eyes.

“The sickness stole your mind once,” Bilbo whispers. “What’s to stop it from doing it again?”

Thorin has no good answer to that. 

“I don’t know,” is what he ends up with. “I don’t suppose I can promise that it won’t take me again.”

There was no promise of a future for them, only a hope. 

“Thorin…” 

“I love you, Bilbo.”

The admission stops the hobbit cold, leaves him blinking owlishly at him. 

“I… I love you… too,” Bilbo stammers.

That is all Thorin needs. He leans in, brings one hand up to cup Bilbo’s face and captures his mouth. The kiss is soft, barely a touch of lips and it makes his heart race. 

“There will never be another,” Thorin tells him. It’s a promise he breathes across Bilbo’s lips, follows it with another kiss. This one delves deeper, presses harder, but still there is no urgency.

Bilbo moves closer, slides into Thorin’s lap and brings his arms up to wrap around his shoulders. The simple press of lips turns into questing touches and a lick of tongue against teeth. Still the urgency never comes. They are slow and easy with each other, commit feel and touch and taste to memory.

When they part, Bilbo presses their foreheads together. “Promise me something else,” he breathes out.

“Anything,” Thorin replies.

Bilbo lifts his head to look him in the eyes. “Forgive yourself.”

Thorin nods, uncertain he can promise such a thing, but he wants to try.

“Do you forgive me?” he asks.

Bilbo kisses him again. 

“There was never anything to forgive,” the hobbit says, repeating his own words back to him.

Thorin smiles against Bilbo’s lips. “Is there anything else you’d like?”

The hobbit nods this time. “Don’t take too long,” he warns him. “I don’t want to have to come back out here to fetch you.”

The laugh that rumbles out of Thorin’s chest echoes off the walls. He could just see it happening, Bilbo showing up a year or so from now, storm brewing behind him as he drags Thorin out of the mountain and back to the Shire kicking and screaming.

“It might be worth it just to see you try,” Thorin teases.

Bilbo thumps him hard across the chest and Thorin winces. The pain is blindingly intense for a moment but fades fast enough. When he focuses again, Thorin notes that Bilbo has gone pale.

“I… I’m so sorry. I didn’t…”

Thorin holds up a hand and shakes his head. “It’s fine,” he assures him. “I’m fine.”

Bilbo clearly doesn’t believe him so he takes as deep a breath as he can and clasps the hobbit’s hand in his own.

“Really,” he insists. “I’m fine.”

Bilbo sags a little. “I don’t think I’m going to be terribly good at this.”

Thorin thinks it’s true enough for the both of them. Neither are used to sharing themselves with another. He can’t speak for Bilbo, but Thorin’s life, for as long as he can remember now, has focused solely on his people. He’s taken no time for himself. There has been no love, no comfort. 

“I don’t think it will be what either of us expects,” Thorin says as he squeezes Bilbo’s hand. “I don’t actually know what to expect but… we can learn it together.”

Bilbo nods, looks as though he doesn’t believe it will ever happen and there’s a part of Thorin that doesn’t think it will either. He will do his best to find a way though. 

“I just…” Bilbo shifts restlessly. “This can’t be the last time, Thorin. I can’t… I thought… up there.”

There are tears in his eyes now and Thorin can’t bear to see him fall apart. Not now.

“Bilbo…”

“No, Thorin,” the hobbit snaps out, silencing him. “I can’t lose you, Thorin. I’ve never loved anyone. Not really. I’ve never needed anyone. But you… you ushed your way into my life and into my heart and I cannot lose that. I won’t.”

A new ache twisted its way into Thorin’s heart. It wound around it and squeezed, dug claws into him until he was certain it would be there for good.

His hand lifts to Bilbo’s cheek, thumb caressing the edge of his mouth softly. “One way or another, my dear Bilbo, we will see each other again. I promise you that.”

Bilbo nods, offers him a shaky smile and Thorin kisses him. The hope that it gives him, the feeling of being complete, is worth more to him than all the gold in Erebor. That is how Thorin knows that no matter how long it takes, he will heal. They both will.

 

* * *

 

When it’s time for Gandalf and Bilbo to leave, what remains of their company is there to say farewell. Well wishes are exchanged, tears and laughs. Bilbo knows he will always have a place amongst the dwarves of Erebor and in turn, they will forever be welcome at Bag End.

Thorin watches on from the battlement. The hobbit and he have already said their goodbyes. They’ve made their promises. It will be years before they see each other again and while the prospect of it is not a pleasant one, it is something they can live with. Thorin will heal, he will set Erebor to rights, and once his people are secure and safe within their home, he will set out on the last journey of his life. One that will finally, at long last, take him home.


End file.
